After she had gritted her teeth and pulled it on, the dress turned out to be nearly a perfect fit, even if it did leave little to the imagination in the vicinity of her chest. Honey glared in the mirror over the dresser, tugging at the rigid stays in the bodice, then watching the weight of her breasts drag the satin fabric down once more. Good Lord, she’d be glad when she got her own civilized clothes back. She’d be even gladder when she got her father’s money back, which was what she was aiming to do.
There was a hairbrush beside the pitcher. She scowled at it viciously enough to kill any critters that might be lurking in its bristles, then dragged it through her dark, tangled locks. After a sigh at her less-than-fetching reflection in the mirror, Honey stalked to the door.
She pulled it open and walked smack into an enormous plaid shirtfront.
“Well, now, ain’t we in an all-fired hurry to find another man.” The rough voice assailed her ears as the breath that carried it assaulted her senses.
Honey pushed both hands hard against the greasy flannel. “Get out of my way.”
“Hold on there, sis. You don’t have to go all the way downstairs looking for your next poke. I’m right here. And right ready, too.” Saying that, the huge man grabbed Honey’s wrist and plastered her hand, palm side down, against the front of his trousers.
A little squeak of shock broke from her throat, and then Honey Logan did the only thing she could manage to think of in the name of decency and in the way of self-defense. She squeezed—hard.
“Lemme go, you she-devil,” the giant howled. He raised his hand to strike her.
“You do that and you’re a dead man.”
Coming from the stairwell, Gideon’s voice was low and lethal, the devil’s own. At that moment, though, to Honey it sounded better than any choir of angels.
The big man twisted his head toward the warning. “What’s this little bitch to you?” he grunted, his arm still poised to loose a powerful blow.
“She’s my wife.”
The arm came down, and now the giant’s voice was closer to a sob than a howl. “Well, hell, fella, your wife’s got my...”
“Let him go, Edwina,” Gideon commanded.
It was only then that Honey realized her hand was still clamped like a vise on her assailant’s private parts. She wrenched it away immediately, allowing the man to retreat at an awkward lope down the hallway, nodding curtly to Gideon as he passed.
Honey crossed her arms and sagged back against the wall, closing her eyes briefly, trying to absorb the liquid shaking that had begun in her knees. Gideon covered the distance between them in two long strides.
“You’re going to get one of us killed if you’re not careful, bright eyes,” he admonished her in the same lethal tone he had used a moment ago.
Honey’s eyes flashed open. She was prepared to burn him alive with a look of hot and righteous indignation, but when she saw the glint of cool amusement in Gideon Summerfield’s eyes she felt a sudden and uncontrollable urge to giggle. She clapped her hand over her mouth, trying to stifle it.
Gideon grinned, briefly. Then his gray eyes clouded. “Lucky for you I just happened along.”
Suppressing the remnants of her laughter, she raised her chin into his somber face. Whatever she had intended to say escaped her momentarily as she caught a whiff of shaving soap and spied the tiny nick beneath his ear. He’d had a shave and a haircut, too. Yesterday’s shaggy cinnamon locks barely brushed his collar now.
The sight set off a swirl of butterflies in her stomach. But when she noted that that collar was attached to a clean and apparently brand-new shirt, Honey squelched the confounded fluttering inside her. New clothes cost money, and she had a pretty good idea where it had come from.
“Thank you for rescuing me, but it really wasn’t necessary, I assure you.”
“I could see that, Ed,” he drawled, shifting his hips lazily and leaning a shoulder into the wall. His mouth slanted into the smallest of grins. “You had the, um, situation pretty well in hand by the time I came along.”
The color that suffused her cheeks forced her to avert her eyes. Where she’d be right now if Gideon Summerfield hadn’t come along just when he had, Honey didn’t even want to consider. But then again, he didn’t have to treat her like a helpless, witless child either.
“What have you done with my money?” she snapped, going on the offense.
“Your money?”
She glared up into his face. “I suppose you think it’s yours now that you’ve stolen it from decent, law-abiding, hardworking people.”
He chuckled softly. “Possession is nine points of the law, bright eyes.”
“And what about me, Mr. Summerfield? Do you believe that you possess me as well?”
His slate gaze skimmed her face, then lowered to the black lace edge of her skimpy bodice. “Nope. I just think you need a little looking out for, at least as long as you’re filling out that dress the way you are.”
She tugged up on the red-and-black satin. To no avail, she realized. “Well, don’t look, dammit.”
“Hard not to.”
The sudden and unbidden thought that this man had undressed her made Honey’s heart begin a brisk, panicky tattoo. Had those dark pewter eyes caressed her then as they were now? And—the thought shocked her—had they liked what they had seen?
“Are you hungry?” he asked her.
“What?” For all the images skittering through her brain just then, Honey barely heard him and could only vaguely comprehend his meaning.
“Come on.” He nudged himself away from the wall, towered over her a moment, then curled his fingers around her upper arm. “Let’s get some food in you and then we’ll see about getting you back to Santa Fe.”
Honey pulled away. “With or without my money?” she demanded hotly.
“Without. You’ll be lucky to get back there with your virtue, let alone your life.”
“I’m not leaving without my money.” Honey crossed her arms and widened her stance.
“Fine with me, lady.” Gideon threw up his hands. “When you find it, you let me know. I’ll be down the street eating breakfast at the café.” He turned on his heel, stalked down the hallway and left her standing there.
“Fine,” she called after him, shaking a fist for emphasis, even though he couldn’t see it. “I hope you choke.”
She was going to get that money back if it was the last thing she ever did. She’d hand that canvas sack to her father, proving once and for all, beyond the shadow of a doubt, just how capable and responsible she was. He’d be so grateful as a consequence he’d probably trade in his desk for an enormous partner’s desk, then install her in a big leather chair right across from his. She smiled wistfully at the prospect.
Beneath her crossed arms, Honey’s traitorous stomach churned and growled. She’d find that canvas sack if she had to turn the hotel and the whole town upside down. In the meantime, though, steak and eggs and steaming coffee was beginning to sound like a king’s ransom. Starving to death wasn’t going to accomplish anything anyway, she thought.
She gave another quick upward tug to the red-and-black bodice of her dress and trotted down the stairs in Gideon Summerfield’s wake. She’d find the money—right after breakfast.
Chapter Four
The big plate glass window in the café was thick with grit, inside and out, but still Gideon could see across the